


Rendezvous

by HolmesianDeduction



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, Oral Sex, alleys, alleyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:31:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesianDeduction/pseuds/HolmesianDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An older prompt-fill in which Arthur and Eames have a rendezvous in an alleyway and Arthur is disdainful of the whole thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rendezvous

             Eames’ kisses are rough and scratchy with stubble, and completely oblivious to the grinding of Arthur’s shoulder blades against the rough brick of the side of the alleyway.

             _And Arthur **hates** it._

             “What was that?”  The murmur croons in his ear as if reading his mind, and he feels a slight hitch in his chest that is almost immediately dissolved by the other man’s teeth on his earlobe, then his neck as usually nimble fingers fumble with his waistcoat before finally yanking it open, not noticing the younger man’s mouth twitch in a wince at this lack of tact.

             _He **hates** it when he does that._

             Eames’ lips are still at his throat, and his fingers are pulling at the buttons on his shirt.  Bending his knees slightly to diminish the height difference and bracing his back against the wall, Arthur tilts his head back slightly, exposing more of his throat to the other’s mouth, hands knotting themselves into fists around the material of the Englishman’s loud shirt.  The thought briefly flickers through his mind that he ought to just rip it.

             _He **hates** that shirt.  **Hates** the entire outfit._

             Sometime while he was thinking, Arthur’s shirt had been peeled back, and Eames’ lips are littering themselves all over his chest, stealing his breath on more than one occasion and compelling his hands to shift, gripping his shoulders in vice-grip fingers, focusing on the nip of the other man’s teeth rather than the damage being done to his clothing by filthy brick or the war being raged by Eames’ fingers against his trousers.

             _It’s the bloody **fumbling** he **hates** most of all.  When Arthur does it, he is quick and efficient.  No wasted movement.  Eames drags **everything** out and Arthur **hates** it sometimes._

             A sudden draft alerted Arthur that his trousers were around his knees long before Eames’ lips did, but it didn’t stop the air from escaping his lungs in a small cry or his hands from instinctively weaving themselves in the other man’s hair.  Eames was always a quick worker, albeit sloppy in ways that made Arthur’s entire being shudder.

             _Arthur **hates** what Eames is able to do to him sometimes._

             A sharp cry breaks the relative stillness of the night air, and Arthur quickly realises, too late, that it was wrenched from his own throat _._ He doesn’t have to look to see Eames’ throat bob in a quick swallow, and he doesn’t have to say a word to remind the shorter man to slip a hand about his waist as his knees buckle slightly, his breathing fighting for stability, eyes still closed.

_Arthur **hates** these filthy-feeling alleyway rendezvous,_

                          _but god help him, he **loves** the man who lures him back every single time._


End file.
